


The Trail of the Southern Guild

by EverythingCanadian



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi, TB does not exist, arthur being horny on main, heavy discriptions of blood and Bronte dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-25 21:22:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21362875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverythingCanadian/pseuds/EverythingCanadian
Summary: Angelo Bronte is in Saint Dennis, Hosea has a plan to take him out for good. Arthur and John are his shadows, his mentees of the Creed of Assassins.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston/Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews/Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde, John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Kudos: 27





	1. Bronte's Finale

**Author's Note:**

> thank you @johnlockerooni on tumblr for this opportunity to stretch my muscles.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The southern creed has taken it upon themselves to finish the job after Bronte slipped through their fingers. Hosea wants the job done.

Hosea knew he could play a part like some could play fiddles. He was good at blending in when needed and standing out without being recognized later. He has had his fair share of scares though, the more he ages the harder it becomes. However he hasn't yet succumbed to being behind the scenes. Hes mentored more of their creed than Dutch or Susan, but that came down to personality. 

The last one he had mentored was Javier, only to give him over to Susan for the more deadly world, the play, the chase. Javier had a wild spirit surrounding knives and the like when dazzling his marks. Susan was well versed in those types of tricks, had Josiah as a mentee as well. 

Tonight however was one of unsuspecting sleight of hand and quick work. He had a pair of shadows following him, one in plain sight dressed as commonly as possible riding Hosea's horse instead of his own; the other running over rooftops with a sniper and a bow with his beast of a horse nearby.

John was quick uptop, had the light step in mind when running to follow Hosea's quick walk through the alleyways. Arthur was gruff and his beard was too long for his liking for this, itchy and smelled off from being wet one too many times. 

Both were well hidden to those who didn't watch. Hosea knew they were there, could hear when John leapt over the gap between roofs. John was in light trousers made of cotton, thin but warm for this deed, he had forgone a jacket, he didn't need one here, too hot, too muggy. He had on a shirt that was closed at the wrists, and a waistcoat that was a single line of buttons, all done up to his neck. Hair tied back in a braid that Charles had finished with a tight tie of striped and cured sinew. Arthur saw the cheeky little bow of tan and beige Charles tied at the tail, not wanting to spoil the fun he didn't say a thing. 

Arthur had shorn his hair to a nice shave at his sides but left the top with some length, Abigail liked that look on him, so did Sadie. John too now that he mentions it. But Arthur’s eyes weren’t on John anymore, he knew the man could stick to the shadows now, and he wouldn’t be noticed until he wanted to be. His eyes were on Hosea, the robe, the cloak, the flat brimmed hat, all of it drew Arthur’s eyes, but no one else paid much attention as it was supposed to be. 

Walking the back alley’s was easy to Hosea, the older man had a grace in his step while in his costume. The weight of being the camp father had been shed as he put the fresh, clean clothes on, the first man of cloth did not exactly need them anymore. He didn't need the raw opium, morphine, or the squandered away tithings he had stolen. Hosea however was happy to pose as a priest, keeping his eyes down and body stiff like the man he had watched the week before.

Arthur was pleasantly surprised when he didn't notice it was Hosea right away, happy that the man had gotten the part down well in such short notice. They were on a time limit after all, one Angelo Bronte was in Saint Denis and his upper class "friends" were with him this time. Down from the Carolinas and their cotton fields that still operated but had men they "paid." This was a scouting trip at the least, a score at the most. 

Hosea looked to Arthur during a larger gap between sets of buildings near the road, John had already passed them closer to the innermost shop roofs where the gap between brick and mortar was smaller. Those warm eyes could be felt from so far away, Arthur had to stop a shiver from making him quake on the saddle in the road. Hosea's smile was brief but Arthur rolled his eyes to himself, old man knew about the teenage crush Arthur had had, wouldn't stop teasing every so often. 

Hosea started to hum loud enough for Arthur to get the signal, john had spotted Bronte, and Hosea was relaying. It was time. The magic that had set a flame in both Arthur and John's bellies was once again lit. Arthur pulled off the cobblestone at the next hitching post, finding that the middle of it was empty and deciding the mare and the older mustang would be okay for Silver Dollar to relax with, so long as the mustang wasn't fresh caught. But he didn't look it.

Getting out of the well molded saddle and petting Silver Dollar was fast work, needing to be in the shadows quickly before hell broke loose at Arthur causing a fight if he were to be spotted by Bronte. Jack was already safe, but Bronte had escaped out of their grasp.

Hosea met Arthur behind a cigar shop, the smell of tobacco and whiskey stung his nose a little with how fresh it was, but Arthur powered through it, pushing his bandanna up, a bright yellow as opposed to his usual black, he was in different clothes made to make him seem bigger than he was in the waist. It wasn't flattering but it made for good cover, even if Arthur hated playing dress-up. 

"Hello, my boy, ready to watch?" Hosea teased, sensing the building tension in the air. "John is already getting into position by the barber's, ready when we are." Hosea had unbuttoned his sleeve cuffs, the blades strapped to his wrists thin but strong, the mechanism perfected bit by bit by Mary-Beth and Tilly. 

Arthur had a set of throwing knives on him, but his main weapon would always be his fists and the concealed knife in his boot, Tilly was a miracle worker with her gadgets. One good hard click to the button on the back inner heel would send the short and wide blade out at the toe, giving Arthur's kicks a mean bite. 

Arthur hummed under his breath when Hosea's warm hand cupped his jaw, tilting Arthur's face up to meet his own, a green wool sat under Hosea's eyes, his nose and mouth and chin covered. "Are you ready dear?" He smiled, eyes glinting happily. 

Arthur nodded against the warmth, pressing a little into it. Waiting in the dark alley on a barely walked and unlit street for John's signal if they had an opening. 

John's soft hum of three soft notes was so loud to Arthur, the adrenaline pumping, Bronte and his group had separated for the night, and Bronte must be heading their way. Hosea would be the one to execute Bronte, he needed this kind of catharsis after his panic when Jack was kidnapped. 

The coast was as clear as they could manage, and Hosea being the priest wouldn't look too odd with blood on him, the church dealt with the sick often enough. Keeping his head down so the dark of the lampless street took his form he stepped out, carefully getting in Bronte's way before pushing his hand to just where Bronte's clavicles ended and the gap between began, letting the pressure of the force and weight behind the press spring the blade into Bronte's throat and arteries, Hosea brought his hand up and let the blade open a cavity for blood to pool into. Arthur was quick to grab Bronte before the man started to topple, grabbing the man by the armpits and hauling his life leaking body into the alleyway. Hosea carried on to the next alley with a connection to the one that Arthur disappeared back into. 

Arthur was stunned when he saw Bronte still alive, just taking wet breaths. Arthur heard fast and heavy steps coming. Hosea having to run from when he entered the shadows again. Arthur propped Bronte up against the back of the cigar shop’s brick wall, watching those angry eyes burn a hole into his already patchy and blackened soul. “Not so tough now then?” Arthur whispered loud enough for Bronte to hear it over his drowning. 

Hosea panted a little, not used to running after a couple weeks of nothing but camp work and relaxing. But when he got to Bronte’s body he knelt down on the far side from Arthur, leaning in to whisper directly into Angelo Bronte’s ear. Arthur couldn’t hear the words but he could feel the waves of malice, anger, and finally a sense of relief as Hosea pulled back. 

This part Arthur wasn’t really comfortable with, but Hosea was more than happy to watch as the life leached from Bronte, blood finally streaming out of the now full cavity. Hosea had said his peace, and he got to watch his work come to fruition. He had a little bit of coughed up spatter on his ear and neck, staining the collar of white he wore. At the last couple gurgles Hosea smiled as he pulled down the bandanna, that grin didn’t reach his eyes, all teeth and no comfort. 

Arthur looked away at the last part, only hearing the quiet and wet end. He looked up to see John’s silhouette against the smoggy and faintly orange sky, the cloud cover low enough to pick up the light of the city. John tilted his head before disappearing back onto the roof, the near silent sound of John’s boots on the roof before a quiet grunt as he leapt to the next building, heading to their rendezvous point. 

Hosea struggled a little to stand fully, knees cracking from pressure and stretching. Arthur was there to help him steady, wincing at the cough Hosea had. But Hosea pulled the bandanna off as he turned to walk back into the alleyways, stuffing the cloth into his clergy satchel. “Meet you at the willow trees, Arthur.” He sounded exhausted, body still in the act, but his emotional well being had finally released everything he had against Bronte. Hosea held up the golden money clip with the thick bills folded into the metal. “Get what you can, son, He doesn’t need any of his flashy pieces now.” 

It was a few more steps before Hosea was in the shadows, only a trained ear could hear his sure and steady steps. 

Arthur won’t lie, he was more than excited to see his mentor, his father figure, take someone out with such surety, the smooth and practiced moves. He remembers getting an erection a couple times during their smaller hunts for the creed, watching Dutch with his smiles and ease at being a silver tongue. Hosea had been in his mind sometimes when they had trailed and tagged and watched, playing a game of dress-up and acting in their rolls. Susan had given Arthur’s hand a run when she had played along with Hosea as a gentleman and his hussy of a wife. Arthur had wondered once if they’d be good for a threesome. But Arthur had felt shame the next morning and wasn’t able to look at either of them in the eye.

They had a kick out of that. Poor Arthur. 

It didn’t take long for Arthur to sequester everything of value from Angelo Bronte, jewelry, money, notes, premium cigars in a tin. Arthur took it all before he finished counting in his head. 

Arthur had waited half a minute before he walked back the way he came, pulling the bandanna around his neck again, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it after striking a match over the brick as he walked away from Bronte’s body. It was done. The fight for The fight for Jack had ended and all was well until the morning when Bronte’s body was found. But Hosea and his shadows would be long gone to Valentine by then. They’d ride the night through to camp just out of the bayou. Riding at a steady pace before finding home.

Once there they’d say their goodnights and sleep for a couple of hours or so before waking up to the life of living. But for tonight they’d meet up at the grouping of willows before laughing and feeling the relief of one more crooked rich boy out of the world.

Now however the assassin’s creed in the south would settle. Arthur put the necklace that Bronte hid in his inner breast pocket, smiling a bit at another recovered piece of Eden in their possession. Another Templar dead. Tonight they celebrate a little.


	2. Hickory Orchard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Saint Denis job, Hosea feels right, the pressure of that man is gone.

It’s been so long since they had a place to call their own. To have a feeling of safety no matter how slight it was. Arthur felt it the most as he saw the lights on in their house, their home, come shining through the foliage as they rode in. A place for their Creed. 

Hickory Orchard was a warm two story building. A grand staircase right at the main entrance made of a dark wood and polished to a shining surface. The floors were reenforced so that they wouldn’t wear out and squeak after a few months. They had plenty of room in the main building, plenty of beds to go around and plenty of space to live in. The sitting room was the centerpiece to the place, a grand stone fireplace that was the only room that had no room above it, taking up two full stories itself. With its built in bookshelves into the thicker walls of the sitting room. It had actual in home electricity that had entranced a few of the group, candles and campfires were their normal. Often enough Hosea and Mary-Beth were found on the hand crafted couches, the orange stained oak carved and bent into magnificent shapes with cushions galore. It was a proper log home.

Dutch had actually spent some of their meager funds back then to get a solid home built for them. As the project went on the group went hunting, both animal and bounty, to keep the money flowing to the contractors and the builders they had found. 

By the end of it they had this. A place for themselves, a homestead. It was a haven to them all. 

John was starting to fall asleep in his saddle, Old Boy’s trot gently rocking the man to sleep on their last little bit. he had taken the knife holster off from under his coat when they passed the lights of Valentine coming in. 

Hosea was like liquid in his own saddle, the tension of Bronte still being alive out their finally gone after their mission. His body moved with Silver Dollar’s gait. His blades packed away in his saddle bag, however his guns were out in the open on his belt. 

And Arthur himself had one hand off the reins, letting it pet through Wilde’s brown mane. Occasionally he’d switch hands to let his left stretch and open up from holding the leather reins. He had his throwing knives hanging off the side of his saddle near the front, just in case. His repeater clacking away on his back. 

To see the lights still on on the bottom floor meant that whoever had sleeping problems was up. Most likely Dutch, but Arthur wouldn’t put it past Susan or Tilly to be up either. However it made Arthur feel better knowing that the house was safe, the occupants all cozy inside on a cool spring night. 

Saint Denis was behind them by a few days. Having ridden hard the night of the mission to be as far away from their as possible, and the rest a slower pace of travel to get home. 

Arthur could feel himself relax further as he smelt the rain in the air ready to come down. The sweet grassy aroma mixing with the fresh growth in Hosea and Abigail’s garden that came with the spring breeze. 

The stale smell of the barn and hay that was maybe damp from sitting covered all winter. Arthur had known that he would have a home one day, and to have it with his friends, his family, was all the sweeter. 

It had felt like mere moments to Arthur as they finally passed the archway into their homestead, the weathered wood starting to grow what Arthur thought was moss, but he could be wrong. To see that gave him a sense of stability, being there long enough to have something growing from the new-ish structures. Arthur smiled dopily to himself once they hit the splitting path, all three of them headed to the barn to rest their horses. 

John got off Old Boy first, leading the war horse to the barn doors. John unlatched and pushed the doors open, wincing when one side hit the barn wall harder than any of them wanted. 

“Johnathan Marston, you’re lucky I’m too damn tired to chew you out. Hope no-one woke from that racket.” Hosea chastised, lips pursed as he looked at John’s tired face. 

John hummed, nose wrinkled in reply. He lead Old Boy into the barn, the hay laid floor soaking up the rainwater that had come down that afternoon. Hosea and Arthur kicked lightly to get Silver Dollar and Wilde into the barn as well, wanting to put them away after taking care of their tack and brushing them down. Hidden weapons stored away properly.

Arthur cooed softly, loving that Wilde pressed his white covered nose into Arthur’s chest and huffing. “Yeah Boy, I know. Been a long few days. But you can rest up. Won’t be going on a job for a little while. You can see your lady friend tomorrow too when you lot wake up.” Arthur pet Wilde’s face a few more times before calling it a night. He double checked that the blanket was in place on Wilde’s back before he moved out of the stall and closed it. Hosea was waiting for him outside of Silver Dollar’s own stall, chewing on what looked like dried apple pieces Karen had made that past autumn.

Arthur stopped his feet just in front of Hosea, watching the man chew slowly, mechanically, before swallowing, putting the last of his snack back into the little cloth sack he carried around. “Home safe now, my boy. No trail left to follow and home without a hitch.” Hosea smiled softly. The wear of looking over their shoulders for the first couple days catching up to him. “Proud of us.” He nodded. 

The priest outfit was still stuffed into one of the saddlebags, hanging on the hook just outside Silver Dollar's stall, but that could be emptied out later. Hosea wanted to get horizontal and sleep soundly. He could feel the ache in his bones from riding for so long, tensed up just waiting for something that hadn't come after all.

Arthur couldn’t blame him, his own costume was still in his pack along with a spare outfit. They were exhausted from the high of emotions that had come with such a high profiled Templar. But now they could rest easy for a while. A piece of eden had been recovered and Jack's assailant was dead. 

John had already left, he needed as much sleep as he could get before he helped till the fields the next day for crops. Abigail had a habit of waking up when she heard someone coming into their ranch, she and John had taken the room closest to the entrance. 

The slight shift of the atmosphere around Arthur wasn't missed, he felt the attraction and the relief in the same wave that washed over him. Hosea was a slick fox when it came to reading a room or reading a person. Arthur knew he was no different, let it happen when Hosea made the first move. 

Hosea moved slowly around Arthur, steps carefully placed. He wanted to push Arthur to the stall wall while keeping his hands off the younger man. His gaze and gait enough to pin him. 

Arthur knew this game, had played it with Dutch once, John a few times, and Abigail twice since they’d laid their claim at Hickory Orchard. But now it was Hosea doing it to him. Prowling and sizing up his prey. Arthur loved it, let it happen.

He stepped in accordance with Hosea, letting his back touch and press against the sanded wood. Hosea’s eyes tired, but still dancing with low simmering heat. “You boys did fine work. Both of you deserve a reward of sorts. John will get his tomorrow. You, Arthur, don’t need to be anywhere or do anything till supper time. I think a part of yours is warranted tonight?” Hosea’s eyes pressed him to the wood. Arthur felt his blood heat up slightly with that gaze on him, the way those eyes looked him over. “If you say no then nothing will happen here. I want you comfortable Arthur. I know your looks and I know your heart. I have seen everything you hold in those eyes of yours for a while. But I won’t do anything you don’t want, is that clear son?”

Arthur nodded, unable to speak for a moment. “Yeah-” his voice cracked. “Yeah, Hosea- I know my limits and I know when to stop before a line gets crossed.” Arthur’s skin hummed as Hosea stepped forward. “Is whatever you’re thinking going to break something between us?” He asked softly. 

The smile that spread over Hosea’s face was answer enough. No. They’d be fine. Hosea, from what arthur knows and hears, is a careful man with a heart that engulfs the soul of his partner. 

Two quick strides had Hosea in Arthur’s space, those sure hands at Arthur’s waist with a strength Arthur had dreamed about a few times. Both were too tired to do anything serious, but the gentle nuzzle of noses between them both was heartwarming, letting the feeling flush through Arthur’s body. “May I?” 

Arthur was stunned for a moment at being asked for permission. Giving an affirmative hum had Hosea’s lips pressing against his own. Warm, familiar, like rolling in warm blankets on a cold day and knowing he had nowhere to be. Arthur loved it. His hands hesitated in their path to Hosea’s jaw Through the barn air. 

As if he sensed it Hosea pulled back just as slowly as he pressed in. “I won’t break Arthur, I may be in my fifties but I’m not a fragile man.” Hosea smiled, humming when he felt those rough, large hands on his jaw, thick fingers fanning out over his ears and in his silvered hair. “Better.” Hosea's smile was rich and teasing. 

“Smartass.” Arthur huffed with a small smile, chasing that feeling from Hosea’s kiss. A warm hum bursting forth from Arthur as he got a deeper one, stubble catching on his own, now trimmed, beard. Dry and chapped lips meeting his own. Hosea’s kiss was different, but that was a good thing for Arthur, it meant it wasn’t mundane or something boring to him. The wash of warmth meant something for them both and for that the man smiled into the closed mouth kiss. 

Pulling back before either of them had wanted was a smart idea. They didn’t want to go any farther yet, boundaries needed to be set if they pursued this. Too tired from the emotional high the few days of their mission to even think of anything more. Arthur was happy with that as he nuzzled Hosea’s nose again, eyes still closed before pulling away altogether. 

Hosea squeezed Arthur’s waist lightly. “Let’s go get some rest, dear, we deserve it.” Hosea smiled as his eyes barely opened this time. 

Taking his hand Arthur lead them to the house after closing the barn up for the night. Hosea was too bleary eyed to get their without running into something on the way in to the house and then towards his and Dutch’s room. 

Hosea had confessed once that he sometimes used glasses he had stolen for reading smaller print. He was getting up there and his eyes needed help every so often. But this wasn't something glasses could help. Sleep was the fix for this. 

Surprisingly Dutch was in bed, awake, but reading quietly. His and Hosea's room was on the bottom floor opposite the kitchen. It was quieter as the kitchen didn't have a door to the hall but it was through their dining room.

Dutch looked over his own reading glasses when Arthur lead Hosea in, his chest bare with black curls on display, the covers over his waist and legs with the space next to him just waiting for Hosea to occupy it. “Come crawl into bed, love, you’re dead on your feet.” Dutch pulled the covers back, revealing he was in sleeping pants. A soft intimacy reserved for Hosea and Dutch. 

Dutch watched as Hosea let go of Arthur, stepped out of his boots on the way to their bed, belt being undone and braces being slipped off his shoulders. Hosea had managed to undo his waistcoat on the way down the hall and it was on the floor as soon as he made it to the bed. 

When he sat down Dutch scooted over to help with the rest, arms coming around Hosea to help with his pants. Arthur had taken Hosea's and his own hat off at the door. Dutch's eyes flicked to Arthur who stood rooted to the spot just inside the closed bedroom door. 

“Are you joining us Arthur?” Dutch asked, honestly curious.

“No- uh- no. Wanted to make sure Hosea made it and he got into bed. But I can’t seem to make my leg work to get to my own room.” He huffed a laugh. This wouldn't be the first time he's slept in their bed, but last time he was on Dutch's side. 

Dutch shook his head in amusement, loose curls bouncing a little. He tossed Hosea’s necktie and button down to the floor. Silver and blond curls could be seen over the neck hem of Hosea’s union suit, the top button undone by Dutch’s hands. Hosea slowly laid down and wiggled out of his trousers, letting them pool at the end of the bed. He didn’t care that they were going to get wrinkled, he finally felt his body slow down for sleep. 

“Come join us then, your bed is simply to far right now.” Dutch teased, pulling Hosea under the covers and closer to his own side. It left space for Arthur if he wanted to crawl in. 

It didn’t take him long to cave. He made quick work of his clothes, having put on lace up drawers instead of his full union suit as his flannel shirt was warm enough for the spring weather of the cumberland forest. He felt Dutch’s eyes on him, raking over his body sleepily. 

Lastly Arthur sat down to take his boots off, the lack of spurs foriegn to him but were necessary for the job. He had left them on the bottom of his dresser. 

He crawled into their bed, snuggling up behind Hosea and using the pillow that smelled like them both. Hosea was using Dutch’s pillow as the man would be staying up, insomnia ingrained into his mind. He would sit up well into the wee hours of the morning, reading with his back against the intricate headboard and his hand petting absently through Hosea’s hair or lightly rubbing his neck and shoulder.

Both Arthur and Dutch laughed at Hosea’s light snores already. All of them settling in for the night. 

The scars that littered their bodies on display where clothing was missing, but it was nothing for them now. Nics and scratches and stab wounds and bullet wounds. They were a mix of white and pink, melted, scabbed, puckered, and stretched. But here in the relative quiet of their ranch they didn't feel the need to hide them. 

The last thing Arthur remembers before falling fast asleep spooning Hosea was Dutch's low voice whispering, "I love you both, don't rightly know where I'd be without you two. John as well. My boys." After that Arthur knew nothing. 


End file.
